


Storms Are Named After People

by Requiemesque



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fling - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Mexico, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, New Year's Eve, Reverse Chronology, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23545606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Requiemesque/pseuds/Requiemesque
Summary: It isn’t the flow of strangely-colored locks, or glistening bronze skin that just looks so perfect under the glaring sun, or the sway of what looked to be sufficiently-chiseled legs that catches Becky off-guard. It certainly isn’t the enigmatic silence and occasional charismatic laughter of the rather cliquish girl that causes Becky to unconsciously search the room for one presence. Becky did not agree to come to the country to move on but to enjoy solitude and time searching for who she really is outside of a relationship.So why does she find herself checking all of these boxes?
Relationships: Sasha Banks/Becky Lynch | Rebecca Knox
Comments: 25
Kudos: 18





	1. Denouement

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings everyone, I hope the quarantine has been treating you right? It's been a while since I've been able to bring myself up to write something. Suffice to say that this is a love letter to a 2017 self.

**_Denouement_ **

Late into the night, Becky restlessly taps her boots against the tiles of the hotel’s lobby. The click of her soles echoes across the eerily empty lobby occupied merely by the hotel staff; every blaring strobe light and Christmas decor being a tongue-in-cheek kind of reminder of how exponentially lonely it has been. Festivities emptied of the people that celebrate them are just insulting caricatures of the things that ought to be. 

She swallows the lump that had been forming at the back of her throat since one too many tequilas ago. Feeling the ghost of a vibration from her pockets, Becky pulls out her phone to check out her messages. There are no new messages, just a hollow feeling of Becky steeling herself for whatever is about to come. Her gut is so sick with anticipation, she must have hallucinated a response for the thousandth time - each figment uniquely heartbreaking.

Until she gets the real one. 

_ ‘I’m sorry. It’s late and I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ _

She throws her phone: to the couch, the wall, the ominous Christmas decor, the sneering foreign staff. She tells them to shut up and stop blinking, talking, working, doing anything remotely close to existing. Except she can’t. Her fists ball in frustration. Not because she feels that she was lead on, but because she allowed the voices in her head to expect. If she should be angry or charge straight towards the last stage of grief, she isn’t sure because the invitation that had gone cold at the hands of a  _ stranger  _ certainly is the last attempt of salvaging whatever was left from what this trip was supposed to be.

_ Well, that’s gone now. _

Deep inside of her, surfacing, were intimately acquainted truths that she had refused to entertain. This is, and have always been a dead horse.

The elevator dings, and a couple of footsteps replace the dominant ring of faint Christmas music. She tries very hard to tilt her head at a controlled angle, lest  _ they see  _ how much her actions betray a heart beating with anticipation. 

What did she want?

  
  


_ “Hey, Sasha!” She calls out, she doesn’t want this. This isn’t what she wants. It’s what her feet want when it had started to walk in a direction that she didn’t control; her words, when it had called out a name that the mind had since forgotten. It is either her mind or her body lying to the other and she is not sure which is what.  _

_ Sasha tries to look surprised, she cocks a typically fake type of smile and pretends to be happy. Her pose says otherwise, she tilts defensively so as to not allow anyone in.  _

_ Good, Becky thinks. _

_ It’s conviction that lends Becky that speed to get at a startling distance. The back of her hand hits Sasha flat on her cheeks, and Becky hopes it’s all the closure that she’s ever needed. _

_ “Why did you stop talking to me?” _

_ “Why did you let me think that you felt the same?” _

_ “Why were you so goddamn polite about it?” _

_ A thousand questions that spills out of Becky’s mouth all felt like futile attempts at making Sasha listen. Eventually Becky bites her lips, because what else does she expect? It’s Sasha. It is a matter of a deep breath that takes her back to a time where every minute of her day was spent waiting for a response that - to recurring observation, only ever arrives five hours after being viewed, or maybe the next day.  _

Becky finds herself back into the lounge, she stares at the clump of people that who had come from the elevator and none of whom carry the bitter taste of blue. 

* * *

_ A cold touch whisks into reality a Becky who is halfway through her attempt at looking for that Google Drive where she had stored every single screenshot of her conversations with Sasha. She really isn’t sure why she had saved those only to piss herself off after a good few minutes.  _

_ The touch is oddly familiar, and she wishes that it is everything she's ever wanted. At this point Becky knows that those types of wishes should only ever be accompanied with a ton of caveats. Because it's probably not the case. Regardless, she's learned to hope against hope.  _

_ There is a crippling anxiety that accompanies the tilt of her head towards the source of the touch. And just like that, closure looks at her right in the eye - deep with explanation. _

_ She isn't hoping for anything but closure. No games, no politeness, no going out of their way from the other side of the venue to hug her only to ignore her direct messages the hour after. Nothing. But the answer to questions of whys and hows. _

_ "Becky," Sasha begins and Becky is taken back to that one night that her brows had formed in a similar fashion. How endearing it had been, and how haunting it is now. But just like she had been six months prior to the predicament she finds herself now, Becky was entranced. _

_ "Come walk with me?" _

_ She agrees, and whatever was coming feels like it may be a little bit more than the closure that she is asking for.  _

_ It is exactly 3:34 AM on the first of January that they explore the streets of Mexico City. Their hotel nestled at the heart of the city places them at an advantageous disposition regarding how easily accessible kind cab drivers are to wandering tourists. The locals simply trusted them more in the business district.  _

_ Becky is a little bit surprised, as she and Sasha seem like the only people walking around the city. She initially thought and hoped just a couple of hours ago that the hazy new year's eve afterparty that they had attended would extend towards the bustling streets. She isn’t complaining, though. A few minutes ago she pictured herself walking alone and looking for the nearest pub in the city, her heart broken clean by the enigmatic Sasha Banks. So the intimacy definitely suited whatever is unfolding before her eyes. _

_ For most of the walk, Becky keeps a pace that frequently adjusts to Sasha’s more erratic steps. She almost feels like a puppy patiently waiting for whatever scraps she will be given.  _

_ “Hey,” Sasha stops, so does Becky.  _

_ “Mhm?” Becky is looking down, she only notices that dust had collected at the side of her shoe’s soles. It could be that she is imagining, after all, everything is merely illuminated by the solitary lamplight by the corner of a block. _

_ Sasha is so beautiful. Most would say that it is the swagger, the body, the flamboyance that is only ever meant to set you on fire. But Becky prides herself as the person who sees ‘through’. It’s the eyes. The eyes that could ever get so dull and empty for a split second before she catches her own appearance. The sadness that flickers in moments few and far between, in times where Sasha accidentally reveals the chink in the armor. And Becky feels like it was in those moments that Sasha had accidentally let her in.  _

_ Damn shame if it all happened in her head. _

_ “Becky…” She hears Sasha say.  _

_ Again. _

_ And again. _

_ “Becky…” _

* * *

Finding herself back at the hotel’s lounge as she jolts back into consciousness first feels like being doused in cold water, and after knowing what the dream had been, a thousand dying sunsets that she couldn’t contain.

She checks her phone and wonders why Sasha Banks wasn’t on ‘read’ or anywhere near the pile of direct messages that all greeted her a Happy New Year. She realizes that she had previously put her on ignore.

Stupid enough to check message requests, there isn't any further response from Sasha.

This is the closure she has to deal with. 

Alongside that nasty response from a drunken message that she had sent over three months ago.

She needs to hear- see it again. 

_ ‘I liked you a lot too. Meeting you was definitely one of the highlights of the year. Over time it became clear to me that distance would always be an issue and that I didn’t wanna deal with that with the immense pressure that my teammates put on me to become a good triathlete. This takes nothing away from the time I’ve spent with you and I’ll always remember those couple of days. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better, Becky.’  _

This time, she flings her smartphone to the cold tiles of the empty lobby.

It shatters into smithereens.

It’s enough to ground and remind her that whatever she is looking at right now, where she is standing, and how she is feeling is reality. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened six months ago?
> 
> Boiii, you're in for quite a ride.


	2. Rising Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is too freaking long, I have to divide into two.

_**Rising Action** _

* * *

_Do not fall in love with people like me._

_People like me will love you so hard_

_that you turn into stone,_

_into a statue where people come to marvel at how long_

_it must have taken to carve that faraway look into your eyes._

* * *

**_Six Months Ago_ **

* * *

Becky promises herself that this is the last thing that she’s ever going to do for that stupid organization. She carries three different modestly-sized suitcases and barrels through the Summer crowd of a modestly-sized airport, muttering curses to the ensuing bodies that hit her luggage and threw her off-balance. An hour into the entire farce and she’s already questioning if the overall free _luxurious_ accommodation that accompanied the stupid congregation would have been worth it. 

“Why am I not surprised... Even for this event?” Finn asks through a smile, he is evidently way too pleased to come to the airport at a time decent human beings should.

“Once again I am not late, Finn, you are just too fucking early.” 

It is 6 AM and neither of them is in the mood to bicker. Finn sighs, the girl obviously needs a pack of cigarettes. 

“Still have zero clue why _we’re both_ in the leadership conference,” Becky admits.

  
  


The tickets that the school had bought for them were cheap, as it was accompanied by more than a few bit of annoying connecting flights. Becky slips between inebriation and unconsciousness for most of the duration of the journey - her mood dependent on the contents at the bottom of a bottle. 

“You doing good?” Finn asks, giddily offering Becky a ziplocked pack of almonds.

The television screen of the airplane played Rock of Ages, so she doesn’t notice him at first. 

“Rebecca.” Finn starts, still carrying a demeanor far too light for Becky to relate to. “Are you okay? Is this about...”

“Yeah! I’m just ah- watching.” She tries to shake off the dissociation but long plane rides had always carried an air of limbo around it. Perhaps when the plane lands and all’s said and done, the trip’s going to properly conclude a chapter in Becky’s life. She couldn’t be _this_ numb just a couple of months before graduation. 

“Are you excited?”

“Sure. Just happy to be out of Dublin, actually.” Becky downs what seems like is her fifth bottle of beer.

Finn just stares at her. If there are any attempts in his head to create a noise that remotely sounded like a certain name, he makes sure to control it. _Geeese,_ Finn thinks. They are in for one hell of a long night.

* * *

Southeast Asia is a vibrant place; where the sun shines for more than half the day and puffy clouds are scattered in place. She’s seen the picture of the tropics and of warmth on paintings, on TV, on everything else except before her very eyes. Family members had told her to be wary, ‘ _they do not speak our language’_ .

Becky feels as if they have never been more wrong. Whatever lies beneath the language barrier is steadily clarified by the local smile. 

The rental van’s tires come to a screeching halt and they arrive at the hotel. Room assignments indicate that men and women be separated. Becky shakes her head in amusement. When she asks around why that was the case, it takes her a little bit more than a few tries to get her point across and the staff’s simple answer is _Shariah Law._

“Hi! You must be...” Her roommate greets her with a hearty smile seemingly stretched for about a good eon or so. She gingerly checks the back of her ID that’s been distributed upon entrance, “Rebecca… Lynch?”

“Guilty as charged,” She raises her hand, not any higher than the relief that spreads across her face. She seems nice, amicable, and speaks straight English. 

The girl’s uniquely-tied ponytail swings as she excitedly opens the door and steps out to welcome Becky. “I’m Bayley.”

They talk for a good hour, attempting to peel away layers of politeness just to get to the heart of a good conversation. This of course, rarely happens on the first day. So an exchange of snacks is offered, courteous rejections are said; accompanied by a promise to share when need be. 

A packet of cigarettes slips from her luggage, Becky silently curses herself for being so clumsy. There were a lot of people that have strong feelings about cigarettes and she’s just too fatigued to deal with the opinions. 

Bayley looks over her iPad. “Oh, you smoke?” 

_Damn,_ Becky stops, _t _he_ human incarnation of a hug was sharp_. “I-uh, yes? But you don’t have to worry I won’t do it in front-”

“It’s okay! I think this is a smoking room anyway,” Bayley points at the balcony. “My entire family smokes, so I wouldn’t really mind.”

* * *

Clumps of people from big universities start to occupy the tables at the breakfast venue. A beeline of caucasian-looking students crowd over the exotic, colorful, Southeast Asian dishes. It doesn’t seem like there is any more space for two Irish nationals. The aroma of well-combined spices hit her nose and Becky almost regrets not coming down with her roommate but she just really had to check on Finn. 

“Rebecca!” Bayley speeds to where she and Finn are standing. The erratic breathing tells Becky that the girl had surged from a table far from where they stand. “The venue’s filling up pretty quick, but the two of you are welcome to sit with me and my schoolmates.” 

They learn a lot about the odd bunch of twenty-something university students. That they study in Massachusetts; that there’s a nagging sense of insecurity coming out of not being in an Ivy League; that there are small cliques within the big, round, table; and that some of them, _or one of them_ , particularly distracts Becky. 

Becky clears her throat and leans closer to the roommate that had been animatedly discussing sports with Finn. “So, who is _that?_ ”

“Her?” Bayley, now with her mouth full of cereal, searches Becky’s face for confirmation. 

“Mhm!” Becky says hastily… coyly.

“That’s Sasha Banks.” 

* * *

_Do not fall in love with people like me._

_We will take you to museums and parks and monuments_

_and kiss you in every beautiful place_

_so that you can never go back to them_

_without tasting us like blood in your mouth._

* * *

It isn’t the flow of strangely-colored locks, or glistening bronze skin that just looks so perfect under the glaring sun, or the sway of what looked to be sufficiently-chiseled legs that catches Becky off-guard. 

It certainly isn’t the enigmatic silence and occasional charismatic laughter of the rather cliquish girl that causes Becky to unconsciously search the room for one presence. 

Becky _did not_ agree to come to the country to _move on_ but to enjoy solitude and time searching for who she really is outside of a relationship.

So why does she find herself checking all of these boxes? 

They operate in different circles. Two days worth of boring seminars about youth development and Becky concludes that she had made friends with almost everybody in Bayley’s little circle, as all were naturally curious about Ireland. Finn was too preoccupied dusting off any seat that happened to be beside his chair to answer their questions. But it didn’t take long for Becky to take note of the frequent absence of the purple-haired colleague in their group gatherings.

“So are potatoes cheaper in Dublin?” She hears a boy with clean-shaven hair ask, he was as much of a doofus as he looked. 

“I feel like McDonald’s prices because of that kind of supply would be lower.”

She isn’t sure why the clown hung around the likes of Bayley, that group _didn’t deserve_ someone who was the definite embodiment of obnoxiousness. His tirade passes through Becky like a cold wind blowing past a hollow tree. Her eyes veer around the area, willing to be anywhere _but_ in front of who was obviously the group’s diversity hire. Who knew that American universities saved slots for people with a bad case of ‘stupid’? 

Her eyes settle towards the circle of people just beside the empty stage, a retreating blonde reveals a figure Becky _swears_ she isn’t looking for. Sasha is surrounded by a mixture of people who seems to be of high esteem within the global youth organization; suits, ties, well-built physiques, and modulated accents. 

If there is anything anyone needed to know about Becky, it is her habitual ability to crush her own desires before she could even try. 

The girl is way past her league.

* * *

There are designated smoking areas within the venue. Although a youth organization as big as the AIESEC carried a consultative status with a United Nations-sanctioned department, toothless principles against tobacco couldn’t stop several hundreds of college students all over the world from engaging with one of the world’s few socially acceptable form of suicide. Despite this, Becky finds herself straying further from the nearest smoking area and into the deeper, greener, and emptier part of the resort. 

She does not know the comfort of genuine solitude. She realizes that as she compares the glum of Dublin to the comparatively more serene environment of the secluded resort. Upon closing her eyes, she soaks in the symphony of the running water from a nearby fountain, the dancing trees, and the distant laughter of a group of tourists. She closes her eyes and phantoms of exes and frustrated careers all seem like a distant memory, washed by the calming rain. 

Her fingers fidget around the tip of the lighter, familiarly lighting a cigarette that she had placed on her lips. She savors taking a long drag out of the cigarette, as well as the exhale-accompanied sigh soon after. 

“Can I borrow a light?” 

If Becky hadn’t opened her eyes a split-second before her reflex had started to kick in, she is sure as day that the tides of her life would have been forever changed. Her eyes shoot wide open and it continues to stay that way.

Sasha Banks shyly held a clumsily rolled stick between her thumb and her finger. 

“S-” Becky swears that she could swallow an entire fist. “M-Me?”

“Yes. A light, from you.” Sasha laughs; as if the reaction was the most normal thing in the world. She extends a free hand towards Becky. “I think I’ve seen you around, with Bayley, right? I’m Sasha… Banks” 

Her hands are suddenly unaware of its own functions, Becky accidentally drops her lighter to shake Sasha’s hands. “Oops,” she opens her mouth and it takes her a good second of clarity before she remembers her own name, “Lynch! Rebecky. I mean, Becky!" 

“No worries, I got it.” Sasha picks up the lighter as it takes Becky a couple of minutes to settle herself. When she manages to stop being inwardly starstrucked by the woman in front of her, Becky manages to anchor herself back to her senses. 

There are a few things she notices, most notably, how deep Sasha stares into basically anything. Her thumb fumbles restlessly at the butt of her joint - Becky hadn’t even noticed that she had been smoking weed. Becky catches herself staring, and once she becomes aware of this, she immediately looks away - to the ground, at the sky, towards the random passerby. 

She doesn’t even notice that Sasha too, had been observing. “You must be wondering... My bad- I’m sorry, yeah this is weed. We got them from the night market a couple of minutes away from here if you take a taxi. Would you like some?”

“Oh and, you don’t have to worry about cops or anything… really. It’s decriminalized here.”

Her parents had told her to be careful, but goddamn she should have done her research.

Sasha extends a joint to Becky as the Irishwoman takes a short drag out of the substance. “That’s a nice strain.” She wants to choke herself for thus far only being able to do so much as breathe in front of Sasha. The sooner she stops being nervous, the better chance that the conversation extends.

“Oh yeah? Should be, I only get to do this off-season anyway.” Sasha takes a sharp inhale, and then she ashes a huge chunk out of the joint. “Anyway, I should be going…” 

Becky’s face contorts with slight disappointment, but she blames no one but herself. “Oh! Okay... Sure, see you around I guess?” She hopes against hope that she doesn’t sound desperate.

“Yup, see you ‘round.” Sasha says, in a voice clearer than glass and more solemn than beauty. If only promises came in the form of song, this is probably how it sounds like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps. there were easter eggs for some of my discord pals! just gotta look for yours in this chapter and in the following one ;)


	3. Climax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Light smut ahead

_**Climax** _

* * *

_Do not come any closer._

_People like me are bombs._

_When our time is up, we will splatter loss all over your walls_

_in angry colors that make you wish your doorway_

_never learned our name._

* * *

An entire day and another passes by and Becky is only graced by the ghost of Sasha’s presence. Few and far between seminars and activities do their eyes occasionally lock, each of those moments brightened by the warmth of an aloof woman’s smile, and Becky finds herself falling further and further down the rabbit hole. 

This can’t be right.

If the past is even half of the great teacher that it claims to be, Becky knows to keep a firm grip on her heart for every single time that it wants to beat. Just in case a heartless fool fully captures the orbit of an exposed soul.

_“Guard your heart from those fools,”_ her Grandma once said. _“Don’t let them control when your sun rises and when your dusk begins.”_

* * *

The afternoon sunlight rains heavy towards the balcony of Becky’s room at A8056. She finds herself absentmindedly watching B-grade Netflix shows, burning through one cigarette after the other. Another fact about Southeast Asia is how incredibly cheap tobacco products are. 

“Hey, Rebecca?” Bayley’s voice coming from inside the room is muffled when it reaches the balcony; since Becky locks the divider throughout smoke breaks.

“Yeah?” Becky pauses halfway through the uninteresting drag of a fight scene that is happening before her and rushes towards Bayley. Hearing the sound of typing from where she stands, Becky already knows what an exceptionally slow typer Bayley is, she chalks it up to caution.

Bayley sets her laptop down, strangely for the first time since they had gotten back from the morning seminar. “I’m doing my thesis if you were wondering.” Bayley clarifies. 

Becky feels caught, in the most innocent way possible; an absurdly suspicious voice asking how everyone from _goddamn Boston_ were mindreaders. 

She is wrong, though. Becky wears her heart on her sleeves, and it is well within her delusions to note that maybe the lack of familiarity would help her case. She is relatively easy to guess: the flushing of the pale skin, the scrunch that finds its way into her eyebrows for every time any kind of participant adds to the long list of Irish stereotypes, and most especially, the stutter that lodges itself between her words for everytime the topic of purple-haired participant comes up. 

“It’s the second to the last day,” Bayley smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The demeanor quickly changes and Becky reckons that she could have hallucinated it. “There’s usually afterparties around this time. A lot of the U.S. students are going to the night market, but we might just host a little gathering by the pool.”

Bayley adds, “Sasha’s going to be there.”

Red-handed attraction expresses itself in varying ways for different people. It came from Becky in the form of the most obvious attempt at denial that it’s almost like she _didn’t_ try. 

All attempts to steer clear of the Sasha-Talk halt when Bayley assures Becky that they aren’t as close. That Sasha was and is a mystery that walked amongst their schoolmates; approachable but _untouchable_. 

A sigh escapes Becky’s lips, “I just don’t want to get hurt.” She decides from where she stands that she isn’t going to take whatever crumbs that Sasha is willing to offer and the thought-turned-feeling will go away on its own.

* * *

As the moon slowly settles between the bed of stars, the students from Bayley’s university start to occupy the otherwise spacious cabana by the pool; each bringing their personal brand of poison. There are debates about whether or not the Irish can truly outdrink the Americans, and all sorts of rant about the dullness of the last speaker who had been English. 

Dispersing into a mess of small clusters, Becky decides to sit with Finn and Bayley. The two agree to play a drinking game that involves the observation of the varying troupes that roamed around them. Becky is just happy to sit by, and she reckons that the barrenness that sat in the depth of her heart was merely caused by the idea that reality will soon hit her and Finn.

She has to retire from the scholarship committee as a dissatisfied Vice President, the truth is that the corruption seeps deep within the veins of organizational decisions. Excellent students had lost their funding, and no one wanted to take the fall; that was the truth of the story. The instigator? Becky Lynch’s ex-girlfriend, who so callously handled funds and siphoned scraps from meager sponsorships. 

Everyone says that her and Becky broke up because of religious differences - the girl was a hardboiled Christian and Becky was far from that. Becky assures that the reason had been more simple; plain as ethics. 

No one within the organization was willing to go to a developing country, so Becky had to do them a favor.

Becky feels her heart ache a little, and in nights like these she’s just thankful for whatever chemical reaction she could find at the bottom of the bottle. It’s a buffer, really; if she finds happiness - good, if sadness - she has an excuse. She smiles bitterly, because this time it’s emptiness and she doesn't know how to deal; except to take more, and more, until another feeling can be salvaged. 

* * *

Becky is sure that the last bit of sobriety leaves her when the moonlight scatters into an outline of an elegant figure. Its obscurity sharpened into the identity of the person Becky is not sure she wants to see. Sasha Banks wore a white, uncomplicated two-piece swimsuit; and still it looks as if she bathes celestial light. Becky thinks that her jaw might have dropped seeing the deity approaching the cabana - just a little bit past her. Soft skin grazes against Becky’s shoulder as Sasha reaches out for a pre-made drink, and it’s every bit of electric. 

When the spectral touch is quickly replaced by firm hands that clasped her shoulder for support, she finds out that she isn’t at the inebriated stage of hallucination. 

“Becky!” _She remembers._

Sasha sits beside her and there isn’t a nerve in her body that doesn’t tremble. 

“I’m so late! You think I missed anything? Council meeting ran for forever.”

It takes about a few good minutes before Becky stops replying with affirmative, one-syllable responses. The conversation begins to get comfortable, and Becky finds out that they share a lot of things in common: the hate for pop music, the belief that political correctness can often get so dumb but is ultimately necessary, and the undying love for Japanese whiskey. She learns that Sasha is a Slytherin, and Becky freely talks about her admiration for the passion of the Sith. 

The questions get personal, and it unlocks a tinge of vulnerable excitement that inches at the seams of flirting. Sasha talks about being single, the difficulty of finding connection, and how thankful she is that Becky had been willing to listen. Becky musters an equally-weighted response and shares the tragedy that brought her to the youth conference, and how lonely it has been.

"I completely get you," Sasha looks at her. Becky blinks a couple of times because she is so sure that she saw some form of dilation in Sasha's eyes. 

She peers closer, as if the examination will grant her access to what lies beyond the windows of the soul. Without realizing how little personal space there is left between them, Sasha returns the wonder of Becky's gaze with intensity.

"Listen..." Sasha starts, her voice is husky from a couple of shots ago. "I'm gonna take a walk, do you wanna come with?" 

There it is, the look whose meaning she cannot exactly pinpoint. Darkened eyes and erratic breaths, the glow of the moon trapped between the curls of a purple hair. 

"Sure."

_Don’t let them control when your sun rises and when your dusk begins_.

* * *

They find themselves on the same spot of the resort wherein they’ve met. In the dark of the Eastern sky; the palm trees that tower over them look taller, more menacing, protective of secrets that span across the age of time. But most of all they promise the safety of discretion. 

Sasha is the first to act, she runs a palm across Becky’s face, searching her eyes for permission. Her touch sears against Becky’s cheeks and this awakens in Becky an appetite to consume. She hungrily pulls Sasha into her mouth, her back arching against the sturdy trunk of a coconut tree. Hands freely roam around each other’s body, consciously avoiding spots that need the most negotiation. 

The kiss grows deeper, clumsier, and more desperate over time. Sasha steps back, to gasp for air and to watch Becky. If she found lust in the redhead’s eyes, it is all the permission she reckons to completely pin her against the tree, her hips bucking itself towards the other woman’s. Sasha’s teeth digs into her neck and marks the vicinity like it had always been hers. 

Becky is lost in the curves of Sasha’s body, in the fire of Sasha’s touch, in the depth of Sasha’s eyes. 

It takes them more than a couple of minutes to shake off the need that pulsated from their bodies, and to completely soak themselves in the idea of having explored new boundaries with each other. Their bodies pause from communication as silence falls between the two, the sound of crickets and nature reminding them that whatever happened is grounded in that which is real. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Becky blushes under the allure of Sasha’s words. 

The skies start to drizzle, and if they had learned anything over the past few days is how fast light rain can quickly turn into a storm in tropical countries. They flee the site and Sasha walks Becky to her floor. They had previously added each other on Facebook but Sasha asks for Becky’s domestic number - the social networking site, according to her, was too _impersonal_. 

Bayley is still out and Becky is just happy to _not_ be confronted about an event that even she had trouble believing. At least she has the room to herself for prolonged nightly rituals. 

Minutes after changing into her pajamas, Becky’s phone vibrates.

‘ _Why aren’t we together?’_

She doesn’t know how to respond except to feel heat grow across her face, but she manages to calm the kaleidoscope of butterflies in her belly to summon a safe response. 

_‘It’s cause you’re just drunk right now. Haha. Goodnight, Sasha.’_

Becky prepares herself for sleep, smoking the last cigarette for the night in acceptance that the other girl would have been sound asleep. 

_‘You still owe me a picture. Wear your best tomorrow ;D’_

Becky sighs and smoke fills up the air. _Guard your heart from those fools_ , her Grandma’s words have never been louder. 

* * *

_Do not fall in love with people like me._

_With the lonely ones._

_We will forget our own names if it means learning yours._

_We will make you think that hurricanes are gentle,_

_that pain is a gift._

* * *

It is a particularly exhausting afternoon as the first session is held during the hottest time of the day. Almost half the students didn’t show up for the morning lectures, despite the promise of an exquisite breakfast and an entertaining guest speaker. Participants bow their heads either because of hangover or the preemptive depression that comes from the reality of a concluding summer. It seems as if _everyone_ enjoyed last night.

Becky fidgets uncomfortably in her leather jacket; she wasn’t aware that the session’s venue would be held in an open space. The turtleneck beneath isn’t of any help either, but it had warded off questions about the dozen-something bruises that colored Becky’s neck. _Goddamn, that vampire._

The servers arrive with cold tea, accompanied by Southeast Asian appetizers. There is more than enough for everybody at the table as the only ones that had shown up were Bayley, Finn, and half of the Boston students. Oddly, Becky only notices now that the two sat awfully close to each other all the goddamn time. _So that’s why he kept dusting off the seats._ She raises a brow to acknowledge what is happening before her eyes and they don’t even notice.

Really, Becky is really just trying to distract herself. God forbid that she imagines her phone vibrating a notification. So she does everything, from gobbling plates of prawn crackers to burning through her packet of cigarettes.

She feels a ghost of a vibration and her inner monologue loses to the impulse of her fingers.

No messages.

It is all she needs to recalibrate, and to, once again manage her expectations. Sasha had been drunk beyond her imagination, and is probably regretting every bit of last night. The memories flash in Becky’s mind like a distant wave hitting shallow shores, indefinite, a picture of perfection that she’s willing to accept can only happen once. She’s just relieved that Sasha’s didn’t provide legitimate excuses for Becky to overthink what happened. 

Becky steels her resolve, because this isn’t a heartbreak, just a small case of wounded dignity. 

* * *

Becky doesn’t even notice how deep into her nap she has gotten, or how she got to where she is. Sprawled on a porch in the smoking area outside the venue, she is awoken by sloppy claps and the ear-splitting noise of utensils being cleared. She slows into consciousness with the lethargy of a pampered dog, clumsy and territorial. This quickly changes when her vision recovers an image of a purple-haired white jumpsuit and all of a sudden, she feels like there is not a corner in the world she could not hide in.

“O-Oh what the feck!” In the wake of consciousness, Becky’s accent is thick as melted gold. 

“Morning sunshine.”

She rubs her eyes, hoping that the third time her fingers run by her eyes will be the time that the hallucination leaves her alone. 

It doesn’t.

“When did you get here?” _I was hoping you’d never come back._

“Ah,” Sasha stares at Becky like just about everything behind her is blurred. “I was pretty hungover and I overslept. I feel like I missed a lot though, heard they talked about civil rights in the Middle-East today? Crap, I _really_ like that topic.” 

_Please stop talking to me._

Becky scratches her head not out of itch but the unprecedented confusion of what the hell a sober Sasha Banks wanted to do with her. “I uhh, fell asleep for most of it. To be honest.” She feels like she could eat sand from looking so dumb in front of Boston’s reinaissance woman, but she figures that it is probably the best way she could guard her heart.

“Meh,” Sasha eyes her, particularly the seams of her turtleneck that slightly covered a blur of purple and yellow. “You look great. I didn’t want to wake you up, I’m sorry if this feels awkward.” Becky only notices that Sasha sports a couple of proudly-exposed bruises as well.

“So… Will I see you tonight?”

“Closing dinner? Yeah. I’ll be there.” Becky’s jaw twitches, and this time she’s hoping _against_ hope.

* * *

Their room smells like Vietnamese cuisine, a delicious mix of vegetables and oriental spices. For once the stench of nicotine isn’t the most dominant scent in the room. Bayley had cleared out at least three local kiosks for a variety of Asian dishes; she had said that they were for _everyone_ , but it looks as if _everyone_ meant Bayley and Finn. 

Ever since the two had heard about sneak-in loopholes for room assignments, they’ve been meaning to celebrate the vacation. The two blabbered about a trio but it’s clear to Becky that they mean to make her a buffer to keep the ‘wholesome’ title attached to their _friendship_. 

“Becks, come on, just taste this. It's called Fad Pie I think? I wish I could bring this home," Finn globbers.

Bayley laughs at the mispronunciation like it's the funniest joke since self-stirring mugs. “Dude! It’s Pad Thai!” She corrects Finn, the start of her sentence unnecessarily high-pitched. 

_I see you._ Becky smirks. “So, any plans for after tonight?” 

“I don’t know, I’ll stay here. I’ve been sleeping late cause my thesis was due this morning.” Bayley sighs, the rest of the Boston crew likely has something planned. “Dude, just promise that you’re going to get me some local specialty.”

“Sure no probs,” Finn grins. “It’d be less fun in the night market without ya’ though! I’ll slurp up some Milktea for you in spirit, yeah?”

“But what about you? Any plans?” Bayley remembers, completely focusing all the attention on Becky who had retreated into her reflection as if it’s a thousand yards away. 

“Not really,” She shrugs. 

“Oh… Don’t mind me, I guess I just kinda assumed you’d be with Sasha?” Bayley tiptoes between words, the fear of stepping into a landmine coming from nowhere. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just that everyone’s kinda talking about it.”

If her face ever matched the color of her hair, this was probably the time that it had happened. “No we’re nothing, really, we just ummm… ah, talk? I guess? I mean she’s cool and smart and all, but ahh- it’s nothing.” 

_Hopefully, not hopefully, I’m not sure what the fuck it is. Whatever it is, is bad news, that’s what._

* * *

  
  


Salvation doesn’t often come in the form of a text message. Although Becky had tried, her eyes darting all across the grandiose of a ballroom spelled nothing but transparent anxiety. She had texted Sasha the minute that she, Finn, and Bayley had settled into the venue. The Boston clowns dispersed into smaller groups as certain people insisted on taking a long time to prepare. 

The lack of a response isn’t anyone’s fault. When Becky invites Sasha out for a smoke, it had taken her about ten minutes' worth of anxiety before realizing that the message failed to send. She tries to send it again until she realizes that the poor connection is a problem for everyone.

“Third World Wifi, am I right?” The voice either emanates from an obnoxiously-dressed bald participant or Becky’s inner monologues had started to change its pitch.

The text sends, though. The internet pulls through and Becky’s phone is immediately flooded by messages from Dublin that fade to irrelevance when Sasha’s message arrives.

‘ _Where are you?’_ She feels anticipation blossom from within her chest.

‘ _Near the grand entrance, right side.’_

Minutes stretch out for an eternity when the dealings of time involve the pulse of the heart. Every tick of another second a nagging fear that maybe Sasha doesn’t want to see her. Maybe she suddenly realizes how little mystique there is to a person like Becky. That she is a person whose personality ends where it begins. 

It’s just too good to be true and Becky knows to summon every bit of suspicion as she finds herself smoking alone just outside of the venue. If it is the resolve to come out of the situation without a broken heart that gave her feet wings to walk autonomously, she does not know. 

_This is good,_ she tells herself. _The trip is almost ending anyway_. 

Warm hands touch the slope of her shoulder, and Becky feels a chill run down her spine. 

“I looked all over the right side of the grand entrance, you didn’t tell me you’d be going ahead.” She looks for signs of disappointment in Sasha’s eyes and does not know what to feel when she doesn’t find anything but reserved warmth. “You look fantastic.”

“I’m sorry, the signal was probably bad it didn’t send.” She lies through her teeth, because what kind of person in their right mind would tell another to not break their heart? Becky Lynch is on her way to the depths of the rabbit hole and she knows it. 

“...I was wondering about something.” Sasha shuffles under Becky’s gaze. “I really enjoyed _yesterday_ and I was going to ask if we could drink again tonight.”

“Like, the party? Sure. I can ask the others if they’re up, but really you’re their schoolmate so maybe it’d be better if you ask?” _Tell me you don’t remember._

“I don’t,” Sasha blushes, and Becky thinks that her version of embarrassment has got to be the most beautiful. “I don’t mean _that_ . Listen, I’ll buy _our_ liquor. Since you shared so much of yours yesterday.”

_Our liquor_ , Becky can’t help but feel her breath hitch with the implication. “I’m not sure we’d be allowed to loiter around the resort, what with a new batch of tourists coming in.”

“Yeah…” Sasha waits, and the truth is that Becky had already weaved through the maze that is her suggestion.

“...I’m so stupid.” The cigarette’s ember dies with the newfound clarity in Sasha’ connotation, like the last part of the chainmail falling away from the body of a disarmed warrior. “You mean us. Drinking in your room.”

“I hope I wasn’t too forward.”

* * *

There are little words to describe what the night had been thus far, except, almost inorganic. Sasha had picked Becky up from the lobby of her cluster and she had been cavalier all throughout; offering the drinks, fixing the mattress, opening the door and holding out chairs. All those attempts at creating a fairytale out of a world that’s been far too grounded in disbelief. 

But they both knew so little of each other. Sasha tries to turn on the television, in an attempt to lead the night - she even fixes up wine glasses to indignify with a cheap mix of vodka, rum, and orange juice. Becky drinks it awkwardly and they just stare at the television. Never has Becky been more interested in a pride of lions dispersing towards African grass.

It becomes clear that none of them had too low of a tolerance to jump towards the fifth stage of drunkenness, nor too low a self-respect to just chug the bottle. The truth is that the alcohol tastes a little off and the lighting is a little too bright and the room is a little too organized. 

‘People’ had never been more right when they said that there is never a ‘right’ time - and Becky chuckles at the irony. 

_Do you want this?_

Becky is the first to make the move, and she feels like she’s outdone every awkward thing she’s done in the past. She slows into it, though; the startling move to hoist herself on top of Sasha softens into a kiss that felt nothing like the one they’ve had the night before. Sasha catches Becky’s mouth in an attempt to deepen an otherwise sloppy kiss. 

_Do you want me?_

The television is left running when Sasha decides to completely turn off the lights, its faint gleam illuminating the outline of a bunched blanket on top of bunched clothes. Becky’s clothes were the first to come off, Sasha had shyly sought permission at first, fingers lightly tracing between Becky’s skin and the hem of her shirt. But the melodious baritone of Becky’s voice was all she needed to tear through _everything_. 

“Sasha...” Becky says through gritted teeth, her breaths almost too erratic from the shifting strokes of Sasha’s tongue. She clasps a handful of hair, swaying between _almost there_ and _far from_. 

“Mmm?” The response sends a dangerous wave of vibration towards Becky’s core and she almost reaches her climax. Staring at the ceiling is almost too painful, not while Sasha is working her way up to Becky’s exposed self, her exposed heart. Every bit of sensation is combated by the plea to stop the descent towards _that_ rabbit hole. 

Becky reverses them, almost throwing Sasha so carelessly against the bed’s headboard - the ebbing intensity and the grinding pace of Sasha’s ministrations becoming too much for her to handle. Becky is a simple person. 

A trustworthy combination of pace, affinity to sensual response, and a blind guess at sensitive spots brought Sasha to her climax. 

Becky is a simple person in it that she made love simply. 

* * *

  
  


Ireland is a relatively small country, the community and its produce creating an intimacy between the land and its people. While the lack of fast-paced hyper urbanization in Dublin certainly meant that they missed out on the excesses, it also meant that the stars never cowered behind the smoke of industrialization. 

Becky grew up looking up, at the same bed of stars that she grew up with for as long as she had lived. They were familiar, like ancestors looking over the destiny of who was once - and still is - a clueless little child.

But the stars in Asia are different. She does not know their names, and their groups, and the pattern of their constellations. Their mystique promises a future, of deeper seas and bigger risks - the kryptonite for those who want to stay planted.

The view from Sasha’s balcony is exceptional. The view that is Sasha is exceptional. She had played her favorite songs, shared the laws that she’s broken, and had stolen Becky’s resistance.

“You know, we’re probably not going to see each other again after this,” Becky admits, boring holes into Sasha who was languidly sprawled against a chair. 

Sasha smiles sadly. “I know.” 

The burgeoning silence is quickly broken by Sasha, whose gaze is one that Becky couldn't decipher. “Will you stay the night?”

She couldn’t do this. Allow herself to fall for what is obviously the world’s most tragic brevity. Only fools would. 

“Please?”

Becky’s mouth speaks on its own accord. “I… I’m sorry.”

“I have to pack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said I'd only do 3 chapters. Surprise it extends to four, it's way too fucking long. I'm sorry. Haha this chapter was a little hard to write, but it's the longest one I've put out and it's the hardest I've worked for. Poured my heart and soul into this one, so I hope you like it!
> 
> Anyway, this is where the easter egg hunt ends, if you were ever interested - or one of those people that could be playing it.


	4. Falling

_**Falling** _

* * *

_You will get lost in the desperation, in the longing_

_for something that is always reaching,_

_but never able to hold._

* * *

The click of Sasha’s boots hitting glassy tiles are mute against the echoes of doubt. Surely, it should be enough that the rest of the world saw them out in the open, heading back to Becky’s floor with disheveled faces and quivering limbs. Surely people have seen the twinkle in Sasha’s eyes as if she held all the secrets to romance. Surely, the jealousy of a several couple of people isn’t enough to make her feel _chosen_.

Becky isn’t a fool.

She knows the blueprint of summer affairs; they’re ever so fleeting, deluded, and cheap. 

At the dusk of the entire affair, Becky stands in front of a mirror and a stranger looks back at her like some form of bitter conclusion. No matter how many times she washes herself off the remnants of what just happened she couldn’t scrub away the feeling that she’s been used.

The rebellious monologue inside of her that tells her that she had slept with Sasha as much as Sasha had slept with her is immediately interrupted by Bayley as soon as Becky stepped out of the shower. 

“Hey,” Bayley yawns, clearly too much of an organized person to be up late into the anxious hours of 2 AM. “Where’d you come from?”

Becky doesn’t have an answer for Bayley. But it doesn’t matter because the girl’s eyes had beaten her spirit into the depths of unconsciousness. 

Nights are exceptionally cold when you’re not anticipating anything. She is strangely attuned to her surroundings: the floating cinder of an ashed cigarette, the rhythmic drops of rain from a damp roof, the distant sound of off-key, drunk, Ivy League students singing their own national anthem in a way that Fergie couldn’t have outperformed.

Empty doesn’t even begin to capture just how emotionally spent Becky is. 

She shouldn’t even be. Normal people don’t just consent to sex and feel like a piece of trash afterwards for doing so. They don’t just preemptively dread that they’ve been worked out by a _casanova_. 

It was too fast, too romantic, had too much of the trappings of a tasteless joke. It is far too costly to flirt with the realization that maybe they could have been something more. So she doesn’t. 

She wouldn’t call herself dazed, but lucid isn’t the exact word to describe what the hell she is doing dipping her toes in a pool when every participant has already locked themselves in their rooms. 

Sleep just wouldn’t knock at her doorway, and she’s done waiting for a tomorrow that bore gifts from the inevitable. She says her goodbyes to the resort through a series of photos, but it really is a farewell more to the chapter of her life that so vividly stands out like colored cinema in the sea of washed-out books. At least this aspect of her life would have been a vibrant story.

In this state where Becky had control over her narrative, every bit of misery is measured to an extent that she could anticipate… control. In the story where Sasha was a prize that Becky had earned, and that Becky was the _one_ who saw through, and the one that won a one night stand - things that hurt only hurt because Becky had allowed it. 

_Fucking harsh,_ she mouths to herself - a billowing smoke following the liberation of a chuckle. _Goddamn I gotta’ sleep._ It is exactly at that spot by the pool that Becky finds out that she’s not particularly good at healthy goodbyes.

* * *

Sasha texts her in the morning, letting her know that they would be checking out early to move into an AirBnB a couple of miles away from the resort. The group had booked an extra day to explore the country. It isn’t a particularly heartfelt message, just a statement of fact, accompanied by the invitation to hang around for breakfast.

Of course, Becky is asleep throughout the ordeal - flattened by the couch, she never even reached the bed from last night. Bayley is the one to wake her up an hour after the fact, telling her the information that she doesn’t see from her phone because she hasn’t checked.

Wide eyes and an involuntary rush to fix her face greets Bayley a ‘good morning’. Becky feels as if she’s treading the tightrope that separated sobriety and sleep deprivation; she isn’t really herself when her feet sprints towards the elevator and her fingers frantically attempt to text Sasha back upon seeing a message that’s gone stale. 

_‘Wru inm omn ny way. R u still th3re?'_

She’s back with that feeling, of holding on to seconds like they solely govern the face of her future. With the brunt of people boarding the elevator for check-out, her chest feels caught between the fluctuating WiFi and an unbelievably long conversation about egg yolk. When the elevator opens up on the seventh floor, she learns that the elevator music is at least ten seconds.

It takes about five cycles of elevator music for the phone to reconnect to the WiFi, another ten her phone to be ringing.

She tries to answer it, pressing the green button more times than it is actually helpful that she swears she probably accidentally rejected the call. It never connects, and she feels that it might have been her scowl that freed up a little bit of space within the elevator.

The chime of a notification alerts her and she swears that now she knows what Christians feel when they sing about Jesus’ Second Coming; but she also swears that the minute she finds out that this is a figment of her imagination, she’s going to have to punch the oldest boomer in the elevator.

_‘What?’_

Now Becky just wants to hit herself. 

She pulls herself out of irritation to correct what she had previously sent. Although the elevator arriving at the ground floor tells her everything she needs to know. It opens to the sight of Sasha Banks looking down at her phone with a humored grin that seems to stretch towards infinity to a point that it reached her eyes. 

“Hi.” Becky greets Sasha who looks up from her phone with a residual smile.

The smile fades into a look that Becky doesn't often see. One of longing for things that aren't there. She felt ephemeral under Sasha's gaze and it almost feels as if the girl dreaded the day as much as she does.

Without warning, Sasha pulls her into a tight embrace.

The sun shone harshly from the panels of the resort’s lobby, illuminating just about everything bare about Sasha - even at its most unflattering sense. She stands in front of Becky in a plain Boston Celtics shirt, denim shorts, with a freshly-washed face to match. Not a lot of people can pinpoint the millisecond that they fall in love. Becky doesn't realize that at the precise moment where Sasha wore the simplest of clothing and the brightest of smiles would be the point of her undoing. 

“I didn’t think you’d wake up.” 

Becky laughs, almost tearful in slight acceptance of the inevitable. “What? You wanna get rid of me so soon? Ouch.”

“...No,” Sasha shakes her head. “Not at all.” 

A van arrives, the elevator dings, and Bayley arrives at the lobby. It happens so fast, she barely had any time to have a grasp on the situation. One minute a tall blonde was flinging an expensive-looking fur coat at the diversity hire and suddenly it makes sense that they would fly in a portable coat hanger; the next? Finn was rushing from the other side of the building to say his goodbyes. The four of them stood there for what felt like both a second, and the eternal stretching of that second in silence. 

“Your flight’s in a few hours?” Becky doesn’t even know which of Sasha or Bayley was asking.

“Yeah,” Finn responds. 

“There’s only one van going to the BnB, but I really wish I could stay.” 

And then they were gone. 

* * *

Adele fucking sucks, Becky realizes that as an obnoxious teenager’s speakers blared ‘Don’t You Remember’ from the side of the pool. Listening to any kind of music is the last thing on her mind; hearing the words, ‘when will I see you again’ makes her want to curl up and die. 

They had been informed of a couple of hours worth of delay in their flight for the night. Finn went out to reschedule the pick-up van for the airport after having to deal with Becky Lynch’s vacant stare for over an hour at lunchtime. 

This fiasco proceeds up until Becky’s phone chimes and it looks as if her heart had started to pump blood again.

‘ _I’m so bored over here.’_

It's Sasha. 

‘ _Same.’_ Becky responds, too quick for anyone who hasn't experienced infatuation to comprehend. 

‘ _You’re still in the hotel?’_

_‘Resort*. But yes, flight got delayed. Waiting for Finn and van.’_

She isn’t expecting a response or a text at all from Sasha. She had accepted the brevity of their situation the other night and is content for things to have happened at all; and it would be _fucking_ amazing if it stays that way. 

The typing animation appears, and Becky entertains herself just guessing what kind of emoji Sasha would use to end the conversation.

_‘Stay still, I’m on my way.’_

Sasha is all sorts of blaze that lights her on fire and Becky is a moth to a flame. Her heart leaps and from that second she knows that she is nearing the bottom of the rabbit hole, against her own advice.

* * *

When Sasha gets to the resort, the skies have already darkened around a faint pink in the clouds that’s more beautiful than dawn. Sasha finds Becky clutching onto her phone and blankly staring at whatever game she had started which she has no intent to finish.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Sasha scratches her head, grinning like a child.

“Yo,” Becky raises a peace sign and it is the most unnatural thing in the world. 

They cram themselves in one beach bench, warm skin pressed up against cold, two pairs of eyes staring beyond the walls of the structure in front of them. They ease into each other, falling under a comfortable embrace wherein Sasha’s head rests above Becky’s shoulder. 

Her heartbeat speeds up amid relaxation, and Becky lights a cigarette to cover the fact.

“I’ll miss the way you smoke,” Sasha mumbles, the voice of an angel reverberating across Becky’s chest - muffled with the noise of her pulse. “It’s the little things, really.” 

_I’ll miss you._ Becky responds with laughter instead, unable to handle what kind of pleas are going to flood out of mouth if she digs deep into that place. “Yeah… me too, I’ll miss me too.”

“Idiot.” Sasha mumbles, she isn’t tearing up but Becky swears that she hears her breath hitch. “That doesn’t even make sense.” 

She doesn't know what kind of silence falls between both of them, it’s a little bit of everything and she’s running out of labels. To describe Sasha, to describe what she’s feeling, and to describe whatever the hell is between the two of them. To distill the moment within the boundaries of words is an embarassing disservice to the feeling. A feeling Becky swears is the closest she’s gotten to magic. 

“I wish we had more time.” Sasha had started to trace patterns around the marks that had formed around Becky’s arm, the healing bruises across Becky’s neck.

The world doesn’t stop for people.

“We have exactly… eight minutes left,” Becky checks her phone for the supposed arrival of the bus that Finn had texted before Sasha got to the poolside. “So… what’s the plan? For you I mean…” 

“Jesus,” Sasha chuckles bitterly. “To stop time I guess?”

It’s Becky’s turn to protest the cliché. "Wow," she bites her tongue because realization dawns that whatever exchange happens within the next few minutes is how she will remember this. 

"You can try." She humors Sasha. Because maybe for at least eight minutes she can pretend that there _is_ something here, no matter how brief.

"Okay…" Sasha presses on with the pretense. "But we're gonna have to close our eyes for it to work."

Becky closes her eyes, an unwavering smile plastered on her face. "I'm going to get so mad it this doesn't wo-"

She feels tenderness press up against her lips. She isn't sure if the warmth on her face is caused by the heat radiating off of their bodies or the wetness that trickled from either of their eyes. Becky teases at Sasha's lower lip; and the latter only responds with a deeper, sobering kiss. She knows that she's been at the receiving end of all sorts of kisses before but there has been nothing quite like the one that says goodbye.

Sasha breaks up the kiss prematurely, resting her forehead against Becky’s. She chuckles, as if bleakly aware of the futility of what she’s about to ask. “What do I have to do for you to stay?”

Becky blinks away the tears that had begun to swell alongside her chest; and even then, neither her eyes nor her heart had felt an inch of release. “We only have a minute left.”

Sasha nods, in begrudging understanding. “I guess this is it then.”

“Are you going to see me off?” Becky requests. 

_Let me hold on to this minute for as long as I can._

The lamplight briefly casts lumination across Sasha’s face, and for a moment Becky _sees_ Sasha. The undercurrent of pain and longing trapped in the contours of a beautiful face. It seems now that stoicism is just a label thrown at her in the absence of an assertion about who she is. Silence can so often be misinterpreted.

“I’m not sure if I can handle it...”

Sasha walks her to the entrance anyway, her eyes in a perpetual state of vacancy. The van arrives, Finn and Becky start to load their luggages, so Becky steals a gaze for one last time. 

_This is it._

She doesn’t know what would be more helpful, her mind isn’t exactly disciplined enough to look away. But Sasha’s was. She sees Sasha talking to the staff, conversing with the front desk manager, fumbling with her shirt, looking at practically anywhere _but_ beyond the tinted windows where Becky sat. That is the sight that leaves with her. 

* * *

The ride to the airport is nothing short of the word empty. 

The thoughts in her head count up to a thousand and none. 

Becky leaves Asia the same way that she entered:

Drunk. 

* * *

When the plane lands back in Ireland, every bit of memory is hazy to Becky; more like a labyrinth of moments rather than a string of anecdotes. 

The opportunity to charge her phone and open her messages arrived and she had already numbed out the feeling.

_‘Come with me, get a flight back.’_

Sasha had sent a picture of their AirBnB. 

_‘Man I already miss you.’_

_‘I’m still pissed you ditched me last night. :P’_

_‘There are super comfy bean bags over here. Perfect for a smoke, you’d love it.’_

That week, Becky holds on to her phone so tight that it could shatter in her palms. 

They continue to text, about the most mundane things regarding Boston and Ireland, about Sasha falling ill and having to prepare for tryouts, about Becky rethinking her decision to quit fighting for what is right in the university system. Finally, Sasha tells her that there will be another youth conference for selected leaders for Mexico, in six months. 

_‘Spending New Year’s Eve with you isn’t such a bad idea.’_

Becky decides to stay at the scholarship committee - for reasons where selfishness sits at the primary. She’s going to be effective as a student leader, and it wouldn’t be because she cares. It is because of the sunrise, the tequila, the images of places in the city that they send to each other. 

She attempts to grasp at reality with the little bit of hope that Sasha brings out in her. _‘Fuck you, make sure this happens.’_

The truth is that it is at the hands of each of their universities participating, of the budget, of fate. But Becky hopes that Sasha gets the message. 

_Please hold on to this magic for as long as six months, when the world can give us another chance._

If it is possible for people like her to pray, she does. Becky knows, deep within her, that there are far too many things that need to be _in the right place at the right time_ for this to work. 

The odds are so _fucking_ slim, and so she hopes for a miracle.

* * *

The hours wither into days as responses have grown so sparingly and more hesitation is placed into composing a goddamn text message. But Becky keeps herself distracted, with the roundabout dullness of Dublin. Sasha is just busy, and is certainly not disappearing back into estrangement.

Regrets occasionally plague Becky, in the long and silent spaces between Sasha’s responses. Because things might have been different had she chosen to stay for the night. And now she is left constantly taking a glimpse at her phone, only for every single chime to the _impossible_ expectation of Sasha texting back.

‘ _Hey’_

_‘How are you doing?’_

Distraction is hard to stretch from hour to hour for two days up until the time Sasha responds.

_‘I’m okay. Little tired.’_

* * *

Things gradually fall into pattern. Meeting after meeting, Becky had excelled in improving the conditions of both the university and her growing resume. What was a distraction starts to grow into passion. 

Every day she hopes a little less. 

But it’s Sasha’s birthday, at least it says on her Facebook wall. 

_Maybe this time._

Becky summons up the last bit of dignity she had left from all those messages between them that only she had initiated.

_‘Happy Birthday dude!’_

Every hour without a response and Becky becomes more and more certain the she needs to find a life outside of her phone.

So when the response does come two days later, it is nothing short of unsurprising.

_‘Thanks’_

* * *

**Three Months Before Mexico**

* * *

_Do not fall in love with people like me._

_We will destroy your apartment._

_We will throw apologies at you that shatter on the floor_

_and cut your feet._

_We will never learn how to be soft._

_We will leave._

_We always do._

* * *

If anyone asks her, Becky could confidently tell them that she’s moved on. She has dated exactly four people since, and every single one of them had excelled at keeping her bed warm.

She moves like an automaton, bulldozing through one distraction after another until she finds her place in the university. It isn’t as bad. She has already put Sasha on ignore, and the pub isn’t as far from her university building anyway. The right person will come when it does.

Except that she is drunk right now, and the sex had been sloppy, and she is way too drunk, and she wanted closure.

Her thumbs gloss over her phone, reliving every bit of emotion that made her cling onto the idea of Asia for as much as she did.

She isn’t thinking.

_‘I'm pretty drunk right now. I just wanted to let you know, I liked you a lot and enjoyed the time we spent together. Sometimes I still think about you. I rarely fall for people and I hate fate for spinning the roulette and it landing onto a foreigner that I barely know. I mean I hope you live a good life with your career and all that. I'm just not sure if that is still how you feel - perhaps and most likely not; but please note that that's how I felt and it took a long time to process. I'm sorry if this may be insignificant towards your busy life and I'm sorry for bugging you- this will probably be the last. Fuck whatever.'_

She does not know that all that she's ever going to get from closure comes in the form of a response sent at 8 AM:

_‘I liked you a lot too. Meeting you was definitely one of the highlights of the year. Over time it became clear to me that distance would always be an issue and that I didn’t wanna deal with that with the immense pressure that my teammates put on me to become a good triathlete. This takes nothing away from the time I’ve spent with you and I’ll always remember those couple of days. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better, Becky.’_

* * *

For the most part, she’s accepted the brevity of whatever they’ve had. The scars have healed from witnessing their little situation sour behind the glow of a phone screen. 

The university sends her an email from the same screen. It is both an announcement and an invitation. From the newly-elected youth president of AIESEC.

Sasha Banks was inviting AIESEC members to fly to Mexico.

A lot didn’t change from her features, except that she looks like winter night. Blue hair that’s so icy that Becky can sleep in the cold of her shoulders.

* * *

_I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible._

_And when I leave you will finally understand;_

_why storms are named after people._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That concludes my four-part short story. I poured a lot of my heart into this one so I hope you enjoyed the ride, and if you did - please do drop a form of feedback, they're always welcome!


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